


The Other Boy

by heavenorspace, twobirdsonesong



Series: A Boy and His Wolf [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Boy and His Wolf, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Confessions, Conversations, Derek Has Feelings, Drabble, Eventual Romance, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace/pseuds/heavenorspace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds out about Derek’s big secret.</p><p>WARNING: This section contains a very brief moment of dubious/nonconsensual kissing/touching between two characters that is immediately resolved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Boy

**Author's Note:**

> A Boy and His Wolf is a collaborative project between [heavenorspace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace/pseuds/heavenorspace) and myself.
> 
> It will be a series of vignettes, out of chronological order, set in a world where Derek, in the form of a wolf, first encountered Stiles when he was a toddler playing in the woods. Derek is under strict pack orders not to reveal himself as werewolf to the human boy and must only interact with him as a wolf. When Stiles is a child, their relationship is strictly platonic and protective in nature. As Stiles grows older that begins to change.
> 
> Each drabble will be accompanied by a piece of art drawn by heavenorspace.

(art by heavenorspace)

 

But it doesn't happen like Derek plans.

  
He spends _weeks_ thinking about how he'll do it.  Maybe he'll come to the front door of the Stilinski house, wipe his sweating palms on his nervous thighs, and knock like a normal person.  And maybe the sheriff will answer and tell him that Stiles is up in his room.  And the sheriff will also tell him that he has a badge and gun and Derek will swallow and nod and slink up the stairs with his tail almost literally between his legs.  And Stiles will be on his computer or reading or maybe pretending to clean his room and Derek will just… He’ll just tell him. Tell him _everything_.  And then, because it’s Stiles, Derek will show him.  Shake off his human body and fold into the wolf. And that will be that.  
  
Or maybe he'll take a walk out into the woods with Stiles. Take them someplace safe – maybe out to the little lake that’s really more of a pond where they spent so much time together during the too-warm summer afternoons.  And Derek will hide behind a rock to shift, to spare Stiles the strange sight of it.  And when he comes back around he’ll be the wolf and Stiles will still know him.  And they'll sit in the sun, Stiles adjusting to this new truth with his fingers tangled in Derek's ruff until Derek slips back into his human body. And then maybe Stiles' fingers touch him completely differently.  
  
But it doesn't happen like that.  
  
The afternoon it happens is weary and grey and Derek is loitering around town because he has nothing else to do and he’s too restless to stay at home with his sisters pestering him.  He feels that Stiles is in distress before he sees him, hears the rapid uptick in Stiles’ familiar heart that sounds so different than joy or excitement or pleasure.

  
Stiles is in a parking lot of a shop and he’s backed up against a motorcycle by another boy.  They're kissing and Derek can smell another boy’s touch on Stiles skin.  There's an acrid stench around Stiles that can only be fear. Derek’s stomach drops to his soles as his heart pounds in his throat and he clenches his fists tightly to keep his claws from glinting in the weak grey light.  He can’t breathe.

  
There is a hand on Stiles’ hip and Stiles is gripping the seat of the bike so tightly his knuckles are white and the veins are straining. He’s trying to lean back, to pull away from the other, broader boy, but the motorcycle keeps him from going far. Derek can see that his lips aren't moving against the mouth of the other and he smells Stiles’ need to get away, and fast.  A growl rumbles in his chest.  
  
"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Derek’s voice reverberates across the parking lot and a flock of birds take flight.    
  
The other boy turns to look at him.  Ethan, Derek thinks, seeing his face. This is the kid Stiles was telling him about and Derek is baring his teeth in challenge before he knows what he’s doing.  Every instinct he possesses, carried deep in his blood, is demanding a fight.  A fight his body knows he’d win so easily.   
  
"This is none of your goddamn-"  
  
And then Ethan' eyes go wide, too wide, and Derek _knows_.  He knows his fangs are out and his eyes are burning gold.  His stomach goes cold even as he imagines the bold red of Ethan’s blood painted across the grey pavement.

 

“What the-”  
  
"Leave,” Derek growls, instead of the threat burning in his chest. “ _Now_."  
  
Ethan fairly pushes Stiles aside to hop on his bike and disappear in a squeal of rubber.

 

Derek struggles for control before he finally lets himself look at Stiles.  The boy is standing stock still, hands loose at his side and mouth open. Derek moves towards him faster than he should be able to.  If his secret is out then a little supernatural movement won’t matter at all, not if it gets him to Stiles all the quicker.

  
"Your eyes," Stiles finally gapes when Derek is standing before him. He doesn’t take a step back though, the way Derek expects him to.  He holds that small victory dear.  But Stiles stinks of...of something.  It's not fear.  It’s worse.  
  
Derek so badly wants to reach out for him but he can't. The wolf of him knows when someone or something is a bare breath away from bolting, from running. One false move and Stiles will be gone.

 

"Stiles, I…” Derek tries, but he can’t find any other words.  
  
Derek doesn't know how he knows, but he feels it the _instant_ Stiles figures it out.  It's in the thud of his rabbit-quick heart and the acrid tang of his sweat, the way his eyes are so wide and his breathing too shallow.  
  
"On my god,” Stiles gasps and this is it.  This is the moment his mother feared for him. “You're my wolf."  
  
Derek chokes on a hard swallow. "Stiles."  
  
"You've always been my wolf."  
  
"Let me just-" he takes a step forward, carefully, as though approaching a nervous deer.  
  
Anger washes over Stiles’ features and that startles Derek into stopping right where he is. "What the _fuck_ , man?" Stiles shouts it and Derek flinches.  
  
"I wanted to tell you, but-"  
  
Stiles holds his hands up and there’s something about the slant of his wrists and the tension in his long fingers that expresses just how pissed off he is.  "Let me guess,” sarcasm is thick in Stiles’ voice.  “You _couldn't_.  You couldn’t tell me you’re a fucking wolf. A _werewolf_.  Because it has to remain a _secret_.   Because of fucking werewolf laws or rules or some bullshit.  You _promised_ not to tell, huh?  You _swore_.  Am I right?"  Stiles looks like he’s about to hit Derek, and Derek is pretty sure he’d let him.  
  
Derek blinks.  "I'm sorry,” is all he can say.  The scent of Stiles’ anger is choking.  In all his worrying he never imagined that Stiles would be so furious with him, but he supposes it makes sense.  He was supposed to be Stiles’ best friend, and he failed him, even if it would hurt Stiles’ first more than his body.  
  
"For what?  For _lying_ to me for 15 years? I've told you _everything_.  Everything!” Stiles throws his hands up in to the air before tucking his arms tightly, protectively, around his chest. “And it turns out I didn't even know who you were."

 

Derek feels like someone has clawed deep into his gut and pulled out his insides.

 

“Stiles, please,” he tries to take another step forward, but Stiles just shakes his head and that’s enough to keep Derek back.

 

“Don’t.”

 

And then he’s gone, walking as fast as his legs can take him away from Derek.

 

***

  
That night there’s a soft scratching at Stiles’ window, which he pointedly ignores, turning away and burrowing under his blankets.

  
But he can't ignore the long, mournful howl that echoes through the cold dark of the night.

 

***  
  
The first day after it happens Derek doesn't get up.  He spends the whole of it in bed pretending the world doesn't exist and refusing to eat, even when his mom puts a venison roast in the oven and the rich smell of his makes his mouth water.  The next day he lives as the wolf.  He hides out in the woods – as far from Stiles’ pervasive scent as he can – and tries to forget he's a boy at all, if only for a little while.  The third he spends on the couch in a pile of limbs with his sisters acting like love isn't a thing and his heart hasn’t been torn to mangled shreds.  It doesn’t work.  
  
By the fourth he's looking up colleges on the east coast to escape to when Laura sits down his desk and closes the lid of his laptop.  
  
"Stop this,” she says shortly.  “You smell like defeat and depression and it’s nauseating.”  
  
Derek drops his head down to the desk.  "He hates me,” he moans.  
  
"I am _not_ having this clichéd melodramatic conversation with you.  Get up, little bro." Laura stands and walks out of room and Derek just knows that she expects him to follow her.  
  
Derek would object, that he’s just fine wallowing in the stench of his own failure, but there's no use.  If he doesn't go with her she'll take him by the scruff and drag him out of the house. He gets up.  
  
Laura is waiting for him by her car when he finally shuffles out of the house.  
  
"Good,” she nods, looking his pathetic form up and down. “You had thirty seconds left."  
  
Derek rolls his eyes and gets into the car.  
  
"Where are we going?" He asks as Laura pulls away from the house.  
  
"Doesn't matter.  I just wanted to get you out if your room.  The smell of your teenage heartbreak was infecting the whole house."  
  
"It was not,” Derek protests, uselessly.  
  
Laura glances over at him and her eyes remind him of their mother. "Thank you for not denying you're heartbroken.  We can skip that bit of bullshit too."  
  
"You're welcome,” he replies and tries to pretend the taste of the world isn’t so bitter.  
  
"So what happened?" Laura asks in a tone that brooks no way out.  
  
Derek swallows, remembering the biting anger on Stiles’ face. "He...he found out. About me."  
  
"You were going to tell him though."  
  
Derek shoots his sister a sharp look. "Thank you for not denying that you eavesdropped on my very private and very personal conversation with mom."  
  
"You're welcome.  But you told the kid and he didn't take it well?"  
  
Outside of the car, the forest is a green blur and Derek wishes he were running through the trees, cool dirt under his paws and fresh air filling his lungs. "No, I never got the chance to tell him."  
  
"Oh god,” Laura realizes.  “You slipped.  You shifted. In front of him. What the fuck, Derek?”

  
"I didn't mean to!  But he…” Derek swallows, remembering Ethan with his hands on Stiles. “There were circumstances. I couldn't control it."  
  
"You have the best control of everyone,” Laura almost sounds proud, but it only makes Derek even more embarrassed that he fucked up. “So what happened."  


“There's this...other guy.”  He doesn’t even want to say his name.  “And he...liked Stiles. And I saw them. They were…he was kissing Stiles,” Derek’s claws prick at his thighs where his hands are resting. “But it wasn't, he was trying to force himself on Stiles and I...” Derek looks away from the window and down at his hands where the edges of his claws glint.  
  
"Ripped his throat out?"  Laura asks and she doesn’t sound like it would have been a bad idea.  
  
"No."  
  
"But you wanted to,” she presses.  
  
"Yes,” Derek admits, softly.  He can’t deny that it would have satisfied something deep and dark within him, something that lives in the marrow of his bones, to have splattered Ethan’s heartsblood all across the gum-stained pavement.  
  
Laura turns onto a smaller road, but Derek pays no mind to where they’re headed. "So?"  
  
"I slipped."  Derek closes his eyes and forces his claws to retract.  
  
"How far?"  
  
"Just my eyes,” he answers.  “And my teeth.  But it was enough. The dude ran. And Stiles. Stiles knew. Immediately. He _knew_."  
  
Laura makes a soft, almost impressed sound.  "He is obnoxiously smart.  But was he afraid?"  
  
"That's the thing, he wasn't scared.  He was _mad_. Laura, he’s so mad at me. For lying.  About who I am.  What I am."  The memory of Stiles’ face, the anger in his voice, makes Derek nauseated all over again.  
  
"Well, can you blame him?"  
  
"Not really,” Derek shrugs and slumps in his seat. “But I also can't fix it. I can't take it back. I fucked it up so bad.”  
  
"So you're just going to let him go?" Laura asks him, voice pitched low and careful.  
  
"I never had him."  
  
"Oh, Derek,” Laura voice is as kind as Derek has ever heard it. Not that his sister is ever unkind, but she takes after their mother the most.  “You did."  


Derek looks up at that, sees the gentle smile on his sister’s face.  "Where we going?"  
  
"Haven't you realized?" The car turns a corner just as Derek looks out of the window and his gut clenches.  He knows this street; they're on Stiles’ block.

 

“Laura,” Derek tries to protest, panic rising as Laura pulls up in front of Stiles’ house and comes to a stop.

 

“Get out,” she says, unlocking the door. “Talk to him.  Call me if it doesn’t work out the way I know it will.” She pushes at Derek’s shoulder until he pops open the door and stumbles out onto the sidewalk.

 

The sheriff isn’t home and there’s a light on in Stiles’ bedroom, so Derek slips around the back and quickly scales the house to alight on the edge of Stiles’ window.

 

He can see Stiles sitting at his desk, staring listlessly at the screen of his laptop.  Even though the glass Derek can scent his melancholy and the grey sense of betrayal and it makes his chest ache.  Derek hates that he’s the reason for it.

  
Softly, tentatively, he taps on the window, and Stiles jerks and flails in surprise, almost knocking himself out of his chair.

 

When he rights himself, Stiles glares at Derek through the window and Derek tries to wave, but he just ends up jerking his fingers awkwardly.

 

“Go home,” Stiles says and Derek can see the beating of his rapid pulse in his pale throat.

  
“Please.”

 

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, hands clenching, before he sighs and nods sharply.  “Fine.  You have five minutes.”

 

Derek pushes the window up and slips into the room without an ounce of his usual grace.  
  
"You're a fucking werewolf,” Stiles barks before Derek can even get his bearings.  
  
"I…yeah.”  Derek scratches his hand through his hair.  
  
Stiles turns away from him and then spins back, utterly restless in his body.  Derek knows the feeling.  His bones ache for the body of the wolf.  “Why didn't you just tell me? And don't you dare give me that bullshit about secrets."  
  
Derek wants to sit down and he wants to shift into the wolf. He wants a hundred things except the coldness in Stiles usually amber warm eyes.  “I was afraid.”  
  
"Of what?"  Derek watches the flicker of muscle as Stiles clenches his jaw.  
  
"Of you,” he answers and flinches at Stiles’ scoffing snort. “That you would be afraid of me."  
  
"Because you turn into a fucking wolf?!"  
  
“Yeah,” Derek responds, because it’s all he can do at this point.  
  
"Derek,” Stiles sighs, and the exasperation in his voice is finally overriding the anger.  
  
"I'm sorry,” Derek presses.  He steps closer to Stiles and is relieved when he doesn’t move away.  “I don't know how to make this better.  I _did_ want to tell you, and I really couldn't.  I swear.”  
  
Stiles rakes both of his hand through his already messy hair. “Goddamnit I want my wolf."  
  
Derek swallows and tastes something like rejection.  He should have known.  "I can…” he gestures helplessly to his body, but Stiles shakes his head swiftly.  
  
"No."  
  
“If you want to talk to…to him, to the wolf, it’s fine,” Derek presses. Above all else, he wants Stiles to be happy.   “I can compartmentalize.”  
  
"Derek, I say this with love, but shut up.  I want my wolf and you _are_ the wolf so,” Stiles pauses and presses his lips together. His eyes soften just a fraction, just enough for Derek to notice.  “So I want you.”  
  
"You do?”  Derek’s heart is six seconds from breaking free of his chest.  
  
The first trace of a smile flits across Stiles’ lips. “Yes, you idiot.”  
  
"I'm sorry,” Derek almost whispers.  
  
"Stop saying it,” Stiles responds, but the bite is almost gone from his voice, and Derek is painfully grateful.  
  
"I was going to, you know.”  
  
"What?"  
  
Derek watches as Stiles finally sits down on his bed in a crumple of long limbs. “Tell you.  About me."  
  
"Sure you were,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head ruefully.  
  
"I was,” Derek pushes.  He wants to sit down next to Stiles, but doesn’t.  He wants to shift into the wolf and wrap his tail around Stiles’ thigh, but he doesn’t do that either. “After the night you were sick."  
  
Stiles’ gaze snaps up. "You really were in my room,” he states, eyes narrowed.  
  
Derek gulps.  “I…”  
  
“Thought I dreamed you,” Stiles wonders and a wistfulness edges into his scent.  
  
"I know."  
  
"But I didn't. You were there.”  
  
"I was."  
  
"And I told you..." Stiles glances back at his bed like he’s remembering exactly what he said.  
  
"That's why I knew I had to.  Because of what you said.  Because I could finally believe it. Stiles, I talked to my _mom_ about you. About us.  Told her that I was going to tell you about me.” Derek finally does sit down next to Stiles, close enough their knees bump.  Stiles doesn’t move away.  
  
"You talked to your mom about me?"  He asks.  
  
“I did.”  
  
"But you still didn't say anything."  
  
Derek takes a slow breath.  This close the scent of Stiles is almost overwhelming, the notes of lingering annoyance, tempered by curiosity and growing understanding. And the soft layer of forgiveness. "I was going to. I was...practicing, what I was going to say, to get it right.  To make you understand.  And then...that _thing_ happened." He clenches his jaw against the ache of his fangs.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
"Yeah." Derek clasps his hands in front of him to keep from reaching out for Stiles.  
  
"So what happened? With the eyes and the teeth?” Stiles bares his own completely human teeth and Derek can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his own face.    
  
"I...slipped.  Lost control.” Derek touches his tongue to tip of an incisor and imagines the way it was elongated that day.  “It can happen.  Sometimes. During times of... a heightened emotional state.”  
  
Stiles perks up.  "You were emotionally heightened?"  
  
"Stiles."  
  
"You were jealous?"  Stiles asks it with a touch of teenaged smugness, like he’s almost proud.  
  
"No,” Derek shakes his head, because he wasn’t.  It wasn’t about that, not really.   “I was _angry_.  He was... _touching_ you and you looked like you didn't want it and-"  
  
"I didn't,” Stiles interjects, strongly, like he needs Derek to understand it completely.  
  
Derek turns his head and meets Stiles’ gaze.  There’s no anger left in those honeyed eyes and the tension in Derek’s body eases a little.  “Oh,” he breathes out.  “Okay."  
  
"Yeah,” Stiles shrugs and his fingers twitch on his leg. “So, thank you for that."  
  
Derek smiles.  “You're welcome.”  
  
"Uhm,” Stiles shifts restlessly.  “So, what happens now?"  
  
“I don't know.” Derek wants so many things and doesn’t know where to begin. “Are you really not freaked out by this?"  
  
"That you're a werewolf?  Dude,” Stiles knocks his shoulder into Derek’s and Derek reveals in the tiny touch.  “I've been hanging out with a wolf for my whole damn life, dude.  I think I'm okay with it."  
  
"But,"  
  
Stiles cuts him off, pumping Derek’s thigh with his knuckles. “Don't you dare give me any ‘I’m a monster don’t gaze upon my horrid face' crap.  I _know_ you."  
  
"You do know me,” Derek presses and he can’t conceal the aching sincerity in his voice.  There’s no point in trying to hide it, not now.  
  
Stiles pauses and he cocks his head, looking at Derek with an unfamiliar expression.  It’s soft and appraising and it makes Derek’s heart race all the more. "Yeah,” he agrees, smiling. “I guess I do. Big bad wolf and all.”  
  
The wolf that lives in Derek curls up at that, finally at ease, but the human still needs to be certain.  Derek clenches his fist tightly and then opens his hand to place it on top of Stiles’ where it’s resting on his thigh.  “And you like me.  Me-me.”  
  
"I really do.”  Stiles turns his hand over under Derek’s to link their fingers together and Derek shivers.  
  
 _I'm sort of desperately in love with you_ , Derek thinks, but cannot say.  Not yet.  
  
"Well, I like you too.”  He has to say that much at least.  
  
"Good,” Stiles agrees, and the smile is finally reaching is eyes. “We really should have said this sooner, you know.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So…” Stiles brushes his thumb against Derek’s knuckles and another shiver pulses through him.  If this is any indication of what it’s going to be like with Stiles, Derek is royally screwed.  And he’s completely okay with it.  “Do you want to go get something to eat?"  
  
“Like a date?”  Derek never been on one, but he’s heard good things about them.  Food and conversation and maybe a goodnight kiss. And if Stiles is the one he’s with, he can’t imagine it’d be bad.  
  
"Yes, like a date.” Stiles squeezes his hand and Derek briefly closes his eyes against the aching swell of contentment filling him.

 

“Okay.”


End file.
